On Nosebleeds
That palm-smeared red flower
blossoming down your fingers;
reminding you of when tying shoelaces
was an accomplishment.
When falling down wasn't a blessure,
but a scrap
- a prize worthy of adhesive
and swift kiss.
It is the instinct to lean back
and (*) give yourself an aneurysm.
*swallow; to take back what was once yours.
Copyright © Elizabeth Nathaniel | Year Posted 2012
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